Youre an orphan, who will stand up for you? the husband sneered, shooing me out of the flat.
Wheres the money I handed you yesterday? Daniel burst into the kitchen, his face flaming red with anger.
Poppy turned from the stove where meatballs sizzled, droplets of fat hissing in the hot pan.
What money? You never gave me anything.
Dont lie! Five hundred pounds for groceries! I left it on the nightstand in the bedroom!
Dan, I didnt take that cash. Check again, maybe I moved it.
Ive turned the whole flat upside down! Its gone! You pocketed it and spent it on your trinkets!
Poppy switched off the burner and wiped her hands on the apron. Four years of marriage had taught her to expect such accusations, yet each one still cut to the bone.
Daniel, I didnt take your money. I have my own salary, why would I steal?
Salary! he snorted. Your pocketmoney from the shop? Thats not a salary, its an allowance!
At the doorway appeared the motherinlaw, Margaret Clarke. She had moved in six months ago after selling her flat, insisting she had invested the proceeds in her sons business, though Daniels business was merely a management job at a construction firm.
Whats all this racket? she asked, glancing around the kitchen. Another argument?
Mum, she stole my money! Five hundred pounds!
I didnt steal, Poppy whispered.
Margaret stepped closer, appraising her daughterinlaw from head to toe.
Daniel didnt give me any cash yesterday. He handed it to me for safekeeping because, dear, you cant handle money. Youd waste it all.
Poppy felt the walls close in. Again they were united against her.
Margaret, if you took the cash, just say so. Why point the finger at me?
Are you calling my mother a thief? Daniel burst out.
I never said that. I just want the truth.
Theres nothing to discuss, the motherinlaw said, pulling a few notes from the pocket of her bathrobe. Here they are. I took them so you wouldnt splurge on nonsense. Daniel, take them and buy yourself a decent shirt, or else what will you wear to work?
Daniel slipped the money into his own pocket, not even glancing at Poppy.
Thanks, Mum. You always look out for me.
Poppy stood mute, the sting inside her simmering. In this house any display of feeling turned back on the speaker.
The meatballs are burning, Margaret remarked. Everythings slipping through my fingers. The housewife is hopeless.
Poppy returned to the stove. One side of the meatballs was indeed charred. She flipped them, breathing steadily, refusing to break, refusing to weep, simply doing what was expected.
Four years ago things had been different. Daniel had courted her with roses, taken her to cafés, spoken charmingly. Poppy had worked in the same supermarket she still worked at now a regular shop assistant, no qualifications, no connections. Shed grown up in a childrens home, earned a dormitory room after school and a job. Life had been hard but her own.
Then Daniel appeared handsome, confident, with a decent job. Hed noticed her when he popped into the shop for groceries, started chatting, joking, inviting her out. Poppy could hardly believe her luck. A man like that and a girl from a care home, with no family, no past.
Their wedding was modest. From Poppys side only a flatmate attended; from Daniels side his mother, a few relatives and friends. Margaret watched the bride with a thinly veiled disapproval, though she showed none.
After the ceremony Poppy moved into Daniels twobedroom flat in a council estate. She kept working, kept the house, tried to be a good wife. But slowly things shifted.
First the small nags: the soup too salty, the shirt not ironed properly, the money not allocated correctly. Then the accusations: she spent too much, dressed poorly, was uneducated.
When Margaret moved in, the atmosphere worsened. She took the role of household ruler, critiquing every move Poppy made, steering her son against his wife. Daniel always listened to his mother, always listened.
Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, Poppy announced, setting the table.
Finally, Daniel slumped into his chair, eyes glued to his phone. Im starving.
Margaret inspected the spread with a critical eye.
The salad is watery, and theres hardly any bread. Are you skimping on food?
I bought exactly what we need for the week, according to the list you gave us.
Dont argue with your elders. Young people today have no respect.
Dinner passed in a tense hush. Daniel chewed in silence, Margaret sighed intermittently, displeased with the quality of the meal. Poppy barely touched her plate.
Afterward she washed the dishes while Daniel and his mother lounged in the living room, laughing at the television. Their laughter seemed a world away from Poppy, who felt like a servant permitted to exist under their roof.
At night Daniel went to bed without a goodnight. Poppy lay beside him, staring into darkness, wondering when she had become so unhappy, when she stopped being a beloved wife and turned into a burden.
The next morning she rose before anyone else, as usual, prepared breakfast, packed Daniels lunch. He left muttering something unintelligible.
Poppy, we need to talk, Margaret entered the kitchen as Poppy finished her tea.
Im listening.
This flat is cramped for three. We need more space.
I understand, but we cant afford a bigger place yet.
Thats why we think you should find somewhere else to stay for a while. Rent a room, perhaps. You have a salary, after all.
This is my husbands flat. Im his wife.
Wife? Margaret smiled thinly. What kind of wife are you? You cant have children, youre useless around the house, you have no looks. Daniel could do better.
Daniel chose me, Poppy said quietly.
He made a mistake. People make mistakes. They must be corrected.
Youre suggesting I leave him?
Im suggesting you make his life easier. You dont have to divorce, just live apart. Maybe thats best.
Poppy rose, hands trembling, but kept herself steady.
Ill speak to Daniel.
Talk, talk. Hell agree with me. It was his idea.
The whole day at work Poppy replayed the imagined conversation. Did Daniel really want her out? Did four years mean nothing?
That evening she came home early. Daniel was already there with his mother, tea between them.
Dan, I need to speak with you alone.
Talk in front of Mum, she already knows everything.
This is about us.
He sighed, went to the bedroom, and let her in. She closed the door behind her.
Your mother said you want me to leave. Is that true?
Daniel turned to the window.
Its true. We need space. Mum finds it uncomfortable, I find it uncomfortable. You just take up room.
Im your wife!
A wife who hasnt given me a child in four years, a wife who earns pennies from the shop. What use are you?
Daniel, the doctors said the problem isnt me. Its you
Shut up! he snapped, his eyes flashing. Its your orphan background! Who knows whats in your bloodline!
My parents died in a crash when I was three. Im a normal, healthy person!
Normal, he sneered. No family, no roots, nothing. I married you out of pity, regretted it, and now youre a burden.
Poppy felt tears rise but held them back.
So you want a divorce?
I want you out. Just out. Then well see.
Where should I go?
I dont know. Back to the hall of students, or rent a room. Thats your problem.
Dan, I love you. We can try again
Too late, Poppy. Its decided. Pack your things.
When?
Tomorrow. You have the evening to gather your stuff.
He left the room, leaving her alone on the bed they had shared for four years, the place where she once dreamed of children, of a happy family, of a future. Everything collapsed in an instant.
She began stuffing clothes into a bag, documents, a few pounds she had hidden, photos, books. How much of her life did she really own? Almost nothing.
Margaret peeked into the bedroom.
Clever girl, you understand everything. No need for scenes.
I dont want a scene, Poppy muttered, still packing.
Good. Slip out quietly. Daniel will find someone else from a proper family.
Poppy said nothing. The motherinlaw had always deemed her unworthy of her son and now had won.
In the morning she dressed, took the bags, and stepped into the hallway. Daniel was still asleep. Margaret was sipping tea.
Leaving?
Yes.
Leave the keys on the table.
Poppy placed the keys down, opened the front door, and paused, looking back at the flat that had been her home for four years. It would never feel like home again.
She descended the stairs, out onto a quiet earlymorning street. The city was just waking; the council estate was empty. Where now? Her student hall was already occupied, renting a place required money she only had a few hundred pounds left.
She went to work early, slipped into the staff room, sat on a crate, bags beside her, wanting to cry but feeling only a hollow emptiness.
Poppy? Why are you up so early? Veronica, the store manager, appeared in the doorway, a woman in her fifties, stern but fair.
Just couldnt sleep.
Veronica squinted at the bags.
Whats happened?
Nothing. Alls well.
Dont lie. Ive known you four years; I can tell when youre not telling the truth. Talk.
And Poppy told her everything: the husband, the motherinlaw, the eviction. Words poured out unbidden.
Veronica listened, shaking her head occasionally.
Those bastards, she said when Poppy fell silent. Sorry for the language, but its the only way to describe them.
I dont know what to do.
My daughter moved to a different town; her flat is empty. Stay with me until you get sorted.
Veronica, I cant
You can. And stop calling me Ms. Just Veronica. Pack your things, well go after your shift.
Ill pay you back.
Well manage. First get on your feet.
Tears finally broke free, sliding down her cheeks. Someone was on her side, offering help without demanding anything.
That evening they drove to Veronicas modest twobedroom flat on the outskirts. It was simple but cosy, a narrow bed, a small table, a wardrobe.
Make yourself at home, love. The beds fresh, I changed the sheets yesterday. If you need anything, just say.
Thank you so much. I dont even know how to thank you.
No need. We all go through rough patches. I was helped once, now I help.
Poppy arranged her few belongings, feeling strange in someone elses house but more at peace than in Daniels flat. No one judged, no one accused.
The next day Daniel called.
Where are you? I need the rest of my things.
All my things are gone.
Theres still a box left, with your junk. Come today.
I cant, work runs late.
Then tomorrow. Mum needs space for her stuff.
He hung up, not even asking how she was.
The following day Poppy arrived after work. Daniel opened the door, handed her a box.
Here, take it.
Can I come in?
Why?
I need to discuss something.
He grudgingly let her in. The flat smelled of unfamiliar incense. In the living room sat a young woman, twentyseven, impeccably dressed.
Meet Lena, Daniel said. Lena, this is Poppy, my exwife.
Exwife? Were not divorced yet.
Formalities. Papers will be filed soon.
Lena looked at Poppy with thinly veiled superiority, her beauty and confidence starkly contrasting Poppys plainness.
So youve already found a replacement, Poppy whispered.
Im not a replacement, Lena replied, rising. Im his girlfriend. Real, not a temporary thing.
Daniel, how long have you been seeing her?
He avoided eye contact.
Six months.
Six months. While Poppy tried to be a good wife, he had been seeing someone else, lying, then simply booting her out.
You blamed me for everything.
Youre an orphan, who will stand up for you? Daniel sneered, looking down at her. You have no one. No one will protect you. So pack your box and get out.
Poppy took the box, hands trembling, the anger and humiliation boiling inside, but she showed none. She turned and left.
On the way back to Veronicas she wept, tears streaming, wondering how cruelty could be so casual.
Veronica greeted her with tea and a slice of cake.
Saw him?
Hes got a new girl, together six months.
What a scoundrel. He said you were an orphan, that no one would defend you.
Hes wrong. There are people who will.
Veronica set her cup down.
There are. Me, the shop staff, Maria, the HR manager. Were all on your side.
Thanks, but what good is it? Hell divorce, marry someone else, and forget me.
Thats the best outcome. Youll be free from that idiot and can live a normal life.
That weekend Veronicas friend Alana, also from the shop, visited.
How can you kick someone out of their home!
Apparently you can, Poppy replied, smiling weakly.
Have you spoken to the manager? We have a staffsupport scheme, financial aid is available.
I didnt know.
Talk to Maria Stevens on Monday, shell help.
On Monday Poppy went to the managers office. Maria Stevens listened, brows knitted.
Those bastards, she said, using a colourful word. Ill arrange a small grant and a bonus for this month. Itll cover the first months rent for a new place.
Thank you so much.
We dont abandon our own. Youre a good worker, an honest person. People like you deserve respect.
Poppy left the office feeling lighter; the money would let her rent a room and stop relying on anyone else.
That evening a stranger called.
Poppy? Im Tamara, sister of Margaret Clarke.
Im listening.
I heard you were kicked out. Im against that. My sister acted horribly, and my nephew is ashamed. If you need help, reach out.
Why?
Because Ive been through the same thing. My first husband threw me out. I understand.
They talked for a long time. Tamara shared her story, offered advice, gave moral support. By the end Poppy felt steadier.
A week later she found a room in a communal house. It was cheap but respectable. The landlady, an elderly lady named Zinnia Harper, welcomed her warmly.
Live peacefully, love. I keep order, but Im not a nag. Just keep it clean and quiet.
Poppy moved in, arranged her small corner, hung photos, set out books. It was cramped, modest, but hers a place with no insults, no accusations.
Daniel sent a text about the divorce. Poppy accepted his terms without protest, wanting nothing more than to close that chapter.
Three months passed. She settled into the new rhythm: work, home, occasional chats with colleagues, a quiet life without drama.
One day a man in his forties entered the shop, tall, glasses, kind eyes. He selected groceries, asked Poppy for advice. He returned several times, each visit a bit longer.
You always help customers so attentively? he asked one afternoon.
I try, she replied. Its my job.
Work is one thing, but you also help from the heart. Its rare.
His name was Michael, a teacher at the nearby secondary school. Hed recently divorced and lived alone. They started talking, then he invited her for tea.
I dont know, Poppy blushed. Im newly divorced.
Thats fine. Lets just talk, no strings.
They met in a café, laughed, shared stories. Michael was a good listener, never prying about her past, neverAnd as the sun set over the quiet streets, Poppy finally felt the gentle promise of a new beginning settle into her heart.
